


Party Favor

by LanternJawedStudmuffin



Series: Hallowoneshots [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Background Character Death, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Dark Comedy, Demyx is an extremely disappointing vampire, Developing Relationship, Grab-bag of Popular Vampire Myths, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hopeful Ending, Horror, Human Sacrifice, M/M, The Worst First Date Ever, and Zexion is a recovering goth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanternJawedStudmuffin/pseuds/LanternJawedStudmuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Demyx needs a pretend blood sacrifice in a pinch, who better to ask than the occult-obsessed scientist next door?</p><p>A variant on the "I need you to be my fake date for Thanksgiving" trope - with vampires!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for joining us in the latest installment of the emotional rollercoaster that is this series.
> 
> Does anyone still ship these two? We come from an older part of the fandom, and it seems the fandom has largely moved on from it... but we haven't! Eh, even if this isn't your jam, we hope it's enjoyable for you.

The worst relationship to have with someone was 'almost, perhaps, questionably, casual friends', when you needed to ask a favor.

Demyx had met Zexion that one time there'd been a minor building fire, at four o'clock in the morning on an unpleasantly drizzling night. Everyone had been kicked out onto the street to watch firefighters head inside for all of ten minutes, then gotten to observe the inadvertent arsonist receiving a stern lecture from the fire chief.

Zexion had listened to his telling-off with a totally stoic expression, and informed Demyx after (who'd been nearby, and proceeded to prod curiously) that the fire had only been a bit of burned carpet when one of the candles from his seance tipped over. He'd been trying to conjure. _What_ , Demyx didn't know, and honestly Zexion probably hadn't known either, but it didn't matter because it'd been a resounding failure and now all of his neighbors were grouchy with him.

Ever since that night, Demyx struck up conversation whenever he saw Zexion around. Surprisingly, they ran into each other kind of a lot. At the twenty-four hour coffee shop around the block, the grocery store that was open until ten o'clock even on weekends – Demyx had even helped him carry bags up to his apartment, one time.

Which was why he knew where it was, and that was precisely where he was going. A little before nineteen-hundred hours, Demyx knocked on the door and teetered anxiously back and forth while he waited for his petite neighbor with a penchant for the occult to come answer.

Zexion, reclusive in nature, was not expecting company, nor was he doing anything that might merit a visit from building security demanding he put a stop to his activities (a regular occurrence). Thus, he made no effort to get to the door in a timely manner, and listened briefly just outside of it in the hopes of a disappointed voice or retreating footsteps. In a perfect world, whoever had come to call would be giving up and going away any moment.

But Demyx needed a favor, and didn't know where else to turn.

“Um, hello?” Cautiously, he rapped his knuckles against the door again. “Anyone home?”

Zexion had just relented to checking through the peephole, and leapt back without seeing who it was, startled. Already agitated, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Yes?”

Demyx blinked at him, greeting dying on his tongue. The black pigment around Zexion's visible eye kind of drew more attention to the shadowy bags under it...and also looked unfinished, which would account for the eyeliner pencil still in his hand.

“Oh – sorry. Were you busy?”

“Not particularly,” Zexion droned sleepily.

“You weren't about to go to bed, were you?”

“No,” he answered tonelessly. “Just woke up.”

All of Demyx's concerns were immediately dismissed. “Oh, that's okay then. Can I come in?”

Disinclined to entertain a guest right now, Zexion attempted to weigh the pros and cons of a blunt refusal. “Is there something you need?”

“Sort of?” Demyx fidgeted. “I need to ask you a favor but it's kinda personal and I shouldn't talk about it out in the hall.”

With a sigh, Zexion opened the door wider.

“... So I can come in?” Demyx awkwardly shifted his weight. Nonverbal invitations really didn't work the same way, which Demyx would have argued was semantics if he happened to know what semantics were.

Zexion had rather thought the gesture spoke for itself. He raised an eyebrow (unseen, behind his curtain of hair) and impatiently clarified, “Yes, just come in.”

The repelling force around the door gave, allowing Demyx to walk on through with a grin. “So... This is your apartment. Oh, hey, there's the char mark!”

The apartment was fairly plain. Zexion hadn't done much to personalize the default design apart from changing the lightbulbs out for something less stark. The place was fairly dim, especially with the blackout curtains drawn over every window – not even the streetlamps or moonlight could penetrate those.

His personal effects, apart from a university student's standard fare, were a few mismatched end tables that had undoubtedly been bought second-hand and put the through the wringer. Burns, stains, and ripped-off pieces in the wood finish in the shape of drips. There was still plenty of hardened wax fusing thick, currently-unlit candles to their surfaces. Zexion had a couple of bookshelves, work and pleasure separated between the two; the second bookshelf was stocked with eccentric titles and cover designs.

And, as Demyx had observed, the plain gray rug bore a rather significant patch of singed fibers.

“... Yes, it didn't feel necessary to replace the entire rug,” Zexion crossed his arms, eyeing the ratty sneakers Demyx had neglected to remove before simply charging in to examine his bookshelf.

“Coo-ool...” Demyx scanned titles such as _'Phantasmic Possession: Its Most Recognizable Forms'_ and _'The Demonic Rites Compendium'_. “You're really into all that occult stuff, huh?”

Zexion rather wished he wouldn't do that, accustomed to a level of mockery any time someone explored his books. “It's a hobby of mine, yes. You were saying you have something personal to discuss?”

“Yeah... Hey, spirit raising!” Awed and a little distracted, Demyx zeroed in on one of the tomes, _'Summoning Those Beyond the Grave.'_ “Does that work? Like can you get a ghost to do your bidding?”

He was honestly wondering if one might be able to summon something that could be made to clean his apartment.

“... That's a more theoretical field of study,” Zexion evaded, having put too much effort into his attempted summonings in the past to admit that it simply wasn't real. “I don't mean to be rude, but it you're going to be browsing for a while rather than get to the point, I'd like to finish getting ready.”

'Ready' was only a relative concept. Zexion wasn't actually going anywhere, or planning to see anyone. His precise plans until the moment Demyx knocked were to tackle the theoretical portion of his extra-credit chemistry homework, reheat last night's leftovers and read to the end of his latest paranormal fiction novel. Then he'd sleep for another two or three hours (depending on how quickly he read), and be up to arrive at his school's chemistry labs for when they opened at eight, efficiently finishing the practical portion of his work.

Of course he didn't _need_ make-up on for any of these things, but he was so used to daily wear of it that it was honestly something of a distraction to be without at least a coating of eyeliner. And at the moment he felt incredibly foolish with only the half-finished line.

“Right, sorry!” Demyx whirled around, teetering on his heels. He was kind of nervous. “... Look, this is just kind of an embarrassing thing I need to ask, and I'm only coming to _you_ because I think you'll understand and we're sort of friends. I think. Right?”

Though surprised to hear him say so, Zexion wasn't about to turn down a friend. In no small way was this influenced by his casual attraction to Demyx, which he'd noticed the last time he'd encountered Demyx on the way to the mail room, who had been going to pick up the guitar strings he'd had to order online due to inconvenient store hours. He had also apparently come right from his shower, and his damp skin made his t-shirt cling to him in ways that Zexion had just then been awakened to as very appealing.

“I'd like to think we are.”

Demyx brightened a little, pleased – he hadn't actually known whether or not Zexion would go for that. “So. I need to tell you a thing, first,” turning towards him, Demyx attempted to look as serious as possible.

Zexion kept his eyes on him, unable to guess what this sudden disclosure might be about and a touch worried because of it. “Yes?”

Regarding him gravely, Demyx drew himself up, and sounded a little dramatic in his seriousness.

“... I'm a vampire.”

Oh. Well, that annoyed Zexion on reflex. In his more immature-goth days, he'd known his fair share of _those._ Even as an angst-ridden teenager, he had disdained the sort to buy plastic fangs and hiss at daylight (and if anyone dared to point out that he had done both of those things, he would have calmly demanded proof, knowing he'd disposed of any and all of it) and now, as a student of twenty-two, he found such things _well_ beneath him.

He'd grown out of a time when he would have painted his nails and lips black, and attempt to curse school bullies when they passed by him in the halls. If he'd once suspected Demyx to be the type to try and drag him back to that embarrassing period in his life, he would have never permitted even a casual friendship to spark.

It seemed so improbable, in fact, that Zexion was feeling a rising suspicion that this might be Demyx's very ill-advised attempt to impress him. Perhaps flirt, even?

“I see. And you felt the need to tell me this, because...?”

Demyx looked a little crestfallen. “No, really,” he insisted, and opened his mouth wide. He attempted to say 'See?', and his pointed incisors elongated to a decidedly unnatural extent.

Visibly startled – he had no adequate scientific explanation for that – Zexion stood his ground and stared. For all of a minute, because then he found himself breaking his usually strictly imposed barriers of personal space, and demanding, “How are you doing that?”

Demyx couldn't have answered if he wanted to, Zexion grasping his jaw to hold his mouth open to inspect the bizarre sight.

“... Ahh,” a little awkward, Demyx tried to say 'It's like I told you,' with very little success. Just as well, for Zexion wasn't listening anyway. He was looking closely.

His... fangs appeared to be whole, solid teeth, though he couldn't know that for sure without touching or possibly extracting one for laboratory testing. Both of those were definitely more of a breach than he was willing to attempt.

“Show me again.”

Obligingly, Demyx retracted them – never a comfortable sensation, his fangs quite literally retreating up into his malleable gums – then let them elongate again.

“Incredible,” Zexion breathed, and let him go. He took a step back, clearing his throat. “Still not conclusive proof that you are as you say, but... very impressive.”

“Thank you?” Demyx blinked. “What'll it take for me to convince you? My favor kinda hinges on you believing me.”

Honestly, he _wanted_ to believe Demyx. If nothing else, to be right about the existence of this one particular brand of dark creature. Zexion started to pace, a practice he frequently employed when confronted with an unforeseen circumstance. “Well, common vampire myths are largely fictional and romanticized... There are some more traditional legends, but those are inconsistent at best and contradictory at worst... Not to mention some of it is surely impossible; sensationalized accounts by witnesses unable to explain phenomena before a time of scientific enlightenment, and documenting them with the only language they knew...”

Demyx only listened to about half of that. “Uh-huh. Can I rule out staking as proof?”

“Going out in the sun would be out of the question... Apart from it being past sunset, there are too many variables to that...” Zexion came to a stop, looking Demyx up and down. “I suppose, if popular myth holds any truth to it, the lack of a beating heart would be indisputable evidence. But of course,” he laughed to himself, “that's impossible.” He looked to Demyx, a little pointedly. “Isn't it?”

“No, check it out!” Eager to prove it, Demyx caught Zexion's hand to put against his chest. “Dead as a doornail. That's a weird saying...”

Color rose easily to Zexion's pale complexion. It drained white just as quickly.

Demyx's chest was still as a corpse's.

“... Just a moment.”

“Sure!” Demyx dropped his wrist, pleased and positive Zexion would believe him with this information.

“Come and sit down...” he herded him towards the couch, which Demyx noted was much comfier than his beat-up, squashy one.

It was only a shame Zexion had never thought to invest in a stethoscope, he lamented, kneeling on the floor next to him and seizing the nearest wrist.

He rested two fingers on the inside of it, and waited.

There was no motion. No pulse at all.

Oblivious to Zexion's alarm, Demyx took the moment in which he wasn't doing anything to study Zexion's face. The unfinished eyeliner was a little silly-looking, and the bags under his eyes made him resemble a raccoon. He didn't see those things for much as the fact that Zexion was a very _pretty_ man.

He'd started to admire Zexion's fingers when he finally let go and took a step back. Zexion had waited a full minute for even the faintest hum of blood, and focused so hard he'd begun to feel uncomfortably aware of his own pulse instead.

“I...” he got to his feet, trying not to let bafflement, wariness, or excitement show. “I'll consider this proof enough to at least listen to what you have to say.”

“Great! So, my favor...” Demyx scooted to the edge of the seat, taking a second to figure out how to put this. Then he groaned. “Ugh, this is so embarrassing to even talk about. There's this thing I have to go to... Like, a big get-together thing, with pretty much every vampire in the city.”

Honesty, Zexion had had a vague suspicion that this might be leading up to some kind of...invitation, but not quite of this nature. “A... vampire gathering.”

“Yeah. It's really boring... It's this big traditional thing, and everyone brings sacrifices for this giant feasting...”

As he'd uttered the word 'sacrifices', Demyx looked at him imploringly. Zexion found it unnerving.

“... Excuse me. I think that requires some elaboration.”

“It's dumb, it's... kind of like a party? But a lame, boring party with Elder Ones judging you and you bring at least one sacrifice, and then there are speeches and you drink your sacrifices. It's like... Vampsgiving.”

It was hard not to get hung up on his phrasing.

“I was wondering,” Demyx continued, a little anxiously, “if, maybe, you'd come with me and pretend to be my sacrifice?”

... Oh, hell. He wasn't joking.

If this turned out to be a prank, or some sort of glorified Halloween party (entirely possible, as it was mid-October), he was going to have one of those teeth as revenge.

If it was real... Demyx was showing very little awareness of the gravity of this 'favor'.

“... Let me be _quite_ sure I understand.”

 _Not_ understanding would be a new experience for Zexion, who couldn't recall ever not understanding anything he'd ever been presented with, but this was strange enough to be a dream.

“You're required to attend a... holiday? Or, ceremony of some kind, of other vampires. To which you bring a human sacrifice to drink from. And you've thought of me for that purpose?”

“ _Pretend_ sacrifice!”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Of all the things you've told me, that may be the least believable.”

“Huh?” Demyx looked a little wounded. “I'd never eat you, we're _friends_.”

This did not match Zexion's understanding of vampires _at all_. “Why go to the trouble if you don't intend to feed on me?”

“It's kind of a big social thing,” Demyx sighed. “And this is the first year I don't have _any_ help collecting my sacrifice and if I show up without one it'll be humiliating and they'll make fun of me. Especially Axel.”

“And you... aren't capable of capturing a sacrifice on your own?”

He looked kind of abashed. “... I, uh, have problems putting humans under thrall.”

Zexion stared.

“... It's _hard_...” Demyx defended himself, embarrassed enough to blush if we were capable. “You have to really want to, and then it's like a brain-meshing thing? I _can_ do it, it just, um. It's kind of weak. And I can't hold it for very long.”

He actually seemed genuinely piteous. “And what happens if you don't bring a sacrifice?”

“All night, people would be coming up to me and talking about what a _disappointment_ I am...” Demyx glanced away. “... And I'd probably be, like, even more of an outcast. No one actually wants me there, already.”

That was something Zexion was familiar with. A mystic-obsessed introvert was never made to feel welcome at a family gathering. “... So I should come with you willingly?”

“I wouldn't thrall you,” Demyx quickly reassured him. “Only kind of because it might not work, I'd just... It'd be nice to have a friend around.”

Privately, Zexion damned those dimples, those bright eyes, and that sincere tone. Were this not also the opportunity of a lifetime – he could feel his high-school self positively shriveling in envy – he would never be the type to let a handsome face sway him, but it certainly didn't hurt Demyx's case.

“... Do I get any kind of insurance that I won't be bled dry?”

“Um, sure,” Demyx nibbled his lower lip with the tip of a fang. “Uhh... What kind of insurance? Like money?”

“Not money. A way to protect myself.”

He looked a little startled. “You can't bring a stake or something, that's like bringing a gun to a birthday party! A boring birthday party.”

Zexion grudgingly supposed there was logic to that, though logic in this case was no proper substitute for safety. “So I'm supposed to take it on trust that not you, nor any of these... however many vampires will be in attendance, will harm me?”

“Well, since you're _my_ sacrifice, no one else'll touch you and you'll be right beside me the whole time. But I _swear_ , I wouldn't hurt you. I haven't yet, right?”

“ _Yes_ , but...” Zexion huffed. He couldn't see how _Demyx_ failed to see the issue, here.

“I'll do whatever you want to make sure you feel safe,” Demyx promised earnestly. “This should be at least _kind of_ interesting for you, though, right? Bunch of vampires, doing... traditional vampire things... You like occult! We're occult.”

This was true. And, to be perfectly frank... Zexion had a hard time feeling threatened by him, vampire or no.

“... Will you answer all of my questions about vampires?”

“Yeah, of course I will!”

“And I will be able to observe real vampire tradition?”

“Yup. It's not actually as exciting as it seems, though. Just to warn you.”

Zexion would now be lying to himself if he claimed he wasn't considering it, though it all still seemed absurd. “How exactly do you plan to obscure the fact that I'm not dead from your-... I'm sorry, do you call them family?”

“Oh, it'll be easy,” Demyx grinned. “They're, yeah, I guess you'd call them my family.”

“Some details would be a comfort to me.”

Demyx promptly launched into his plan, oblivious to any and all flaws. “So, how it works is, the Elder Ones will drain _their_ sacrifices, or offerings, and then the bodies get dropped into this big well. We kind of drink by hierarchy... So I'll be going really late, and _pretend_ to drink you, and the bodies will cushion your fall. The well's not all _that_ deep.”

Zexion went cold. “You're going to guarantee my safety by dumping me in a _well of corpses?_ ”

“... Um... Yeah.” Any misgivings were not understood. “And then once the coast is clear, I can come get you.”

In absolute wonder, Zexion stared yet again.

“... I'd really owe you one?” Demyx had one last-ditch effort.

“... Oh, I have not even _started_ on how you would make this up to me.”

In truth, Zexion had no better justification for agreeing than Demyx's pitiful attractiveness, and the childish desire to _really_ want to see vampires. Demyx had started to smile wide, fangs on display.

“You _can_ guarantee my safety?” Zexion almost demanded.

“Promise. So you'll come?”

His eyes flickered to Demyx's fangs. “... You'll come here every full moon to help with rituals, and keep me company when I go out of town to buy books and materials, and in all other things I require assistance with. You're essentially agreeing to become my personal servant.”

More time with Zexion didn't strike him at all like punishment. That didn't sound bad at all. “Just nothing during the day.”

“Yes, I was accounting for that,” Zexion sighed. “When will this be?”

“Tomorrow, at midnight.”

He paled again. “Didn't think to give me much warning, did you?”

“I didn't really know how to ask, so I kept putting it off...” he confessed.

Zexion dragged a hand down his face.

“Fine. Should I... prepare myself in any way?”

He had no idea of what that would entail, but Demyx could have some knowledge he didn't of what a 'sacrifice' should look like in order to be convincing. Zexion was pretty sure he still had white cake foundation around, in case he needed to increase his pallor more than the avoidance of daylight did for him.

“Nah, not really... All _you_ have to do is come with me and be intimidated.” Demyx lit up. “Or you could look like you're under my thrall!”

He crossed his arms. “How would I even know how to look like I'm under thrall?”

“It's like...” Demyx tilted his head back and exaggerated the expression perhaps a little, his mouth lolling open and his eyes wide as though dazed.

Zexion looked unimpressed.

“Like that!” Demyx sat up again, grinning at him. “Kinda.”

“No.”

“Aw...”

“Will it be enough if I follow and look to be in frightened awe?” Which would no doubt require all of Zexion's meager acting skills, to pretend to be at _all_ afraid or impressed by Demyx.

“Oh, yeah, that'd be _great!_ ” He appeared to like that even better.

“That, I will do.”

Demyx leapt off the couch and swept forward, giddy with gratitude and forgetting that Zexion had a personal bubble in which he generally disallowed others to infringe upon. “You are actually the best, ever, I will totally be your personal slave or whatever!”

Demyx kissed his cheek and he froze for less than a second, then pulled back sharply.

Belatedly, Demyx realized he may have freaked him out. “Oops. Sorry,” he flexed his jaw and retracted his fangs.

“... If that was all you wanted, can you please leave now?”

“Yup!” Demyx drew away, almost pivoting and walking with a distinct skip to his step. “I'll come over a bit before we have to go tomorrow, okay?”

“Actually -” Zexion abruptly stopped him. “I do have one question first.”

He paused and whirled around, near the door. “Yeah?”

He felt a little ridiculous in asking, but... In the face of a true immortal being, there was one question Zexion simply _had_ to put forth.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” said Demyx promptly.

Zexion almost sighed. “I mean, how old are you, _really?_ ”

“No, no – I mean I _would_ be twenty-one,” Demyx explained. “I've only been a vampire for like, three years?”

Thoroughly let down, Zexion gave him a look of disbelief. “... Oh.”

Demyx was oblivious to his disappointment. Hanging around the door, he gazed at Zexion with naked gratitude, while (in the back of his mind) rather wishing he could express said gratitude while naked.

“So I'll see you later?”

“I can't believe this...” Zexion muttered, not paying attention. Grudgingly, he rationalized that not _all_ vampires could be centuries old, but he'd been hoping for at least a couple of decades worth of history rattling about in Demyx's brain. It took the mysticism right out of it, if they were both born within-...

Hang on.

“So yeah, I'll pick you up at nine!” Demyx called as he opened the door.

Zexion really wasn't listening, almost offended as he declared, “You're _younger_ than I am.”

He paused. “Huh. Really?”

“ _Yes_.” Without knowing why, Zexion started to blush. Demyx noticed, of course, inherently drawn to any and all signs of blood pumping away in his prey.

The appeal was the same as it was in life, though – it wasn't like it made him _hungry_ , unless the desire to kiss Zexion's cheeks over and over counted.

With a shrug, Demyx declared, “Weird,” and headed out the door. “Bye, Zexion!”

It was rather all the more irritating that Demyx didn't even seem to care about this annoyingly earth-shattering revelation. “Wait. One more question.”

Demyx was beginning to wonder if Zexion _really_ wanted him to go, popping his head back in. “Uh-huh?”

“... Does a vampire's hair grow at all after death, or is it eternally the length it was at the time? Because that would explain a lot...”

The hairstyle had been a key factor in feeling so deceived. Zexion thought it was only logical that Demyx couldn't update it – who honestly had anything resembling a mullet, in this era?

Thinking about it, Demyx gave his own a tug. “Well, mine hasn't grown. Heh, d'you think if I stuck gum in the Elder One's hair, he'd have to shave it off and start wearing wigs?”

Zexion chose not to answer that. “That's what I thought.”

Rather than dash out the door, this time, Demyx stared expectantly.

“... Alright, then. That's all,” Zexion sighed. He'd need to compile a list of his questions; Demyx was easily the most scientifically fascinating neighbor he'd ever had, and he wanted to make sure he fully exploited this resource.

“'Kay. Nine o'clock, don't forget!” Demyx reached for the doorknob, starting to close it behind him. “And don't laugh.”

“I-...” Zexion shot a strange look at the closed door, his assurance that he would do no such thing met with silence and a sense of preemptive regret for getting himself into this situation.

 

* * *

 

Promptly, at the agreed-upon time the following day, there was a knock on Zexion's door that he did not dawdle to respond to.

Zexion had done a bit of fussing over his appearance, having nearly ignored the call of his usual make-up but unable to resist a light application of eyeliner in the end. He wanted to look at least _somewhat_ like himself, while also maintaining a presentable appearance, however a sacrifice even went _about_ looking presentable. Somewhat contrary to the point, though, he had chosen a high cowl-necked sweater to wear. It gave him some peace of mind, even though it only provided as much armor as your standard poly-cotton blend.

Perhaps he would not have fussed over his appearance quite so much had he expected Demyx to show up wearing a miserable expression and thoroughly outdated ceremonial robes. They were hand-me-downs that smelled of rotting wood and mothballs, roughly a century old, and they were infuriatingly scratchy inside.

But worse, they looked stupid.

“Hey!” Demyx greeted, shoulders hunched self-consciously, as though he could make the yellowed lace collar disappear between them.

Zexion took in the sight of him, and – as promised to a closed door – did not laugh.

“... Would you like to come in for a moment?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Demyx darted inside gratefully. “No one saw me, I left early just to make sure I could avoid everyone ever.”

“I assume this is some sort of... traditional attire?” Zexion closed the door.

“I know, it's the worst,” he groaned, but at last seemed to notice how _Zexion_ had dressed himself. “... You can't wear _that!_ ”

He grabbed protectively at his own chest. “I feel safer this way.”

“That's so embarrassing, though...” At least his sacrifice was good-looking, that was always a big status-symbol thing. But one who covered their neck? Demyx could just imagine what they'd mutter behind his back for not even being able to dress up his sacrifice right.

“I didn't think it mattered what I wear, if the illusion we're creating is that you simply found me.”

... He still _had_ a sacrifice, and Zexion's comfort definitely came before anything else. He was doing him such a big favor, after all. “I _guess...”_

Still, Zexion felt a strange need to defend the sweater. “Look, you can pull the collar down when you need to,” he demonstrated quickly, not intending to expose his neck for long.

“I s'pose it's better than what I'm wearing, so it doesn't really matter,” Demyx shrugged gloomily. “So, ready to go?”

“Yes.” Very briefly, Zexion felt almost guilty for any problems he might be creating for Demyx by not changing into something else. Then he remembered how ludicrous that was, and it was forgotten. “I suppose there isn't much point to bringing my cell phone.”

“We're not supposed to, phones are _rude_ apparently...”

“I see that's universal, then...” Zexion glanced away nervously. “I'm not sure how comfortable I am having no means to contact you, though...”

“Maybe we could smuggle it in,” Demyx suggested. Secretly, he had his own tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, which he was also not supposed to have on this occasion. 'Too modern', they'd said, as though scratchy robes on bare thighs were also an adherence to tradition.

“It's on silent, if that helps?”

“Maybe. Just don't take it out, okay?”

“I wouldn't. Using a phone would be an act of free will, after all...” Zexion lamented that he probably wouldn't be able to take as many notes as he wanted to, without a phone. He was stuck committing everything to memory.

He also didn't like the feeling he was experiencing, of knowing nothing about what he was getting into.

An entire car ride might not even get him through all the questions he had.

“Awesome,” Demyx weaved around Zexion, trying to be more upbeat. Really, he was kind of sick of this already. “You can keep your phone. Let me just check my hair and _then_ we'll go...”

Zexion raised an eyebrow, and followed him to the bathroom.

Unexpectedly, Demyx stopped in front of the mirrored medicine cabinet to give himself as critical an inspection as possible, and Zexion stared at the reflection in mild shock.

“I guess it'll do...”

Zexion pointed weakly at the mirror. “You're...”

“I'm what?” Confusedly, Demyx looked back into the mirror, thinking he might have something on his face. His reflection was completely unremarkable, and his skin blemish-free. Zexion cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed.

“Never mind.”

“... Oh!” Regrettably, Demyx had clued in. “My reflection?”

Zexion avoided looking at him. “That's just a myth, then?”

“Uh-huh. So is the picture thing,” he went to leave the bathroom, Zexion in tow. “Mirrors just reflect _everything_ , right?”

“... Yes, I suppose it only makes sense if you have a physical form that it would be reflected regardless.” He felt rather foolish for having expected anything of the sort, now. Of course being living or dead didn't affect one's appearance in a reflective surface. His shower certainly didn't have a soul, and it appeared in his bathroom mirror just as clear as he did. This felt much more scientifically sound. “Likely something to do with the superstition of cameras stealing one's soul...”

“Probably. Which is kinda hurtful,” Demyx frowned, going to the door.

Awkwardly, Zexion slipped on his shoes. He hadn't meant to offend. “Do you... believe you have a soul?”

“I dunno, but isn't it like, discrimination?”

“Ignorance mostly,” Zexion shrugged. “But my understanding is that discrimination was quite popular at the time.”

The only indication that he'd been joking was a slight grin, which was easily the most fascinating thing Demyx had ever seen. He'd _never_ seen him smile, before.

“Glad I wasn't around back _then_. I totally have a soul.”

Demyx forgot that a moment ago that he didn't know whether or not he had a soul, and Zexion chose not to point out the inconsistency. They left the apartment, approaching the stairwell, since the elevators were (once again, and as usual) out of commission.

“So I borrowed a car, it's out in visitor parking,” Demyx informed him conversationally, hitching up his robe as they began their descent.

“Borrowed?” he echoed.

“Yeah, I can't technically _rent_ one... Probably shouldn't ask.”

“Well, given your age...” Zexion sounded a touch bitter, still.

“You're upset about that, huh?”

He cleared his throat. “It's not what I expected.”

Briefly, Demyx felt disappointed, but not in Zexion. “If it makes you feel any better, the Elder One is like, hundreds of years old.”

Zexion went momentarily quiet before admitting, “... That does help a little.”

“Oh, have you eaten anything yet? There won't be anything for the sacrifices...”

“Yes, I gathered that,” he raised an eyebrow. He'd eaten a fairly large dinner, since Demyx hadn't specified how long he should plan to be out, but it seemed sensible to plan to go without food until sunrise.

“Just checking. The only thing worse than boring dumb traditional parties is also being _hungry_.”

Or chafing, hence the jeans.

Zexion nodded, but decided not to point out that he'd also rather not feel _weak_. Demyx skipped the last couple of steps, and dropped the hem of his robe.

“So! You don't need a drive-thru or anything?”

“Not at the moment, and I assume it would be unwise to carry food with me.”

“Yeah, probably...” he mulled that over. “Unless I fed you, like, a steak. Better iron that way.”

His fundamental misunderstanding of biology didn't feel worth correcting. “... I don't think that would be a passable excuse.”

“Dang,” Demyx got the door to the parking lot. “Oh well.”

It took some rummaging to find his keys, buried in his jeans' pocket leagues beneath his ceremonial robes. While he was still able, Zexion noted the exact appearance and smell of the robes in his phone, noting the charge had only dropped by one percent. He was confident it would last all night, used sparingly.

“Car keys!” Demyx held them up proudly, approaching an unremarkable two-door vehicle. “Not sure what to do on the ride over, the radio was busted when I checked.”

“You could give me a few more details of what I'll be risking my life doing here tonight.”

“You _won't_ be risking your life, honest!” He slid into the drivers seat, robes bunching around him and nearly getting caught in the car door when he shut it behind him. “Stupid robes get in the way... So, uh, what else do you want to know? It's seriously that boring. There isn't a lot to even _tell_.”

“I want to know everything you can tell me.”

He blanked completely. “... Uh...”

Zexion watched him, steady and eager for knowledge, phone in hand.

“... It...happens at a crypt?” Demyx provided slowly.

“An actual crypt? Where, here in the city?”

“Kind of just outside it? It's owned by some family, I _think_ maybe the Elder One's ancestors or... maybe descendants...”

“Fascinating...” Zexion tapped that rapidly into his notes. “I suppose a mass human sacrifice would be too difficult to cover up in a public venue...”

It was mark of his overwhelming enthusiasm to learn, that Zexion hadn't even noticed how callous he'd been in saying that. He was so overexposed to news and history of death in large numbers, and it was just so expected in occult genres, that he hadn't fully registered it yet. Apart from the 'well of corpses' he would supposedly be joining, he'd given the inevitable deaths of who-knew how many real people the least thought of anything.

Even now, he was giving all his attention to the living habits of vampires, and not how many humans would die around him tonight.

“I guess, yeah. It's super cliche, though.”

They were on the road, a GPS occasionally chirruping directions from where it was precariously sliding all over the dashboard. Zexion had hundreds of questions, and no real way of prioritizing them.

“Do vampires live in crypts, or are they only used for ceremonial purposes? Oh, do many live among humans the way you do? That would be the better survival tactic...”

“Um. Ceremonial, I think. Like, no one _lives_ in a crypt, that's like the most old-fashioned thing ever,” Demyx wrinkled his nose. “Mostly we just live wherever.”

“'Wherever'? In cities, you mean?”

“Cities... Towns...”

“Somewhere with a large enough human population that occasional disappearances would be overlooked, right?” Zexion didn't look up from his phone.

“Right, yeah,” he blinked. “Exactly.”

“Probably not too near to other vampires for the same purpose,” Zexion mused. “Do you have established hunting grounds?”

“Nope. I don't think so, anyway? If we do, no one's told me...”

“Hm. I had an impression that vampires might be territorial.” Perhaps that was just something _Demyx_ didn't know, Zexion thought. He was a young vampire, and by his own admittance, he was uncertain.

That was disheartening, that his direct source of vampire-related knowledge might be oblivious to his own ways.

“I think some of them are,” Demyx backtracked, not quite sure. “And I guess it'd make sense to have territories...”

That would also explain why he'd never encountered another one near home.

“On that note, how often _do_ vampires feed?” Best to stick with questions Demyx was likely more familiar with.

“Like maybe once a month.”

He scrolled up to his pre-written section on 'feeding habits', where he'd already keyed in a veritable essay on feeding-related hearsay, and started typing. “Interesting... Obviously you absorb nutrients differently than humans,” he glanced at Demyx. “I would _love_ to study your digestion.”

He could almost _feel_ his lit-up eyes. “... That's kinda creepy, dude.”

“I could conduct the first practical study on a real vampire.” Zexion marveled at the opportunity before him, before quickly adding, “Not published, of course, but for purposes of my own interest...”

Demyx's eyes went very wide, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “You're not gonna cut me open, are you?”

His eyebrows raised. “Obviously not. ... Unless you're able to survive that?”

“Who cares! It would hurt!” Demyx squeaked.

“Can you?” Zexion eagerly leaned forward.

“ _Maybe?_ I dunno! _No!_ ”

He decided it was probably best to accept that. “Well, in any case, it would mostly be observation and interview.”

Not taking his eyes off the road for long, Demyx still shot him a wide-eyed look. “... Promise?”

“Yes. You would have to consent to any test I performed.”

“Good,” he looked relieved. “No knives allowed.”

Zexion made a sound not unlike a sigh, writing more in his phone.

“And in return, I won't bite you.”

Zexion turned sharply to look at him.

Given that Demyx had pledged not to kill him _tonight_ , he'd assumed there was already a no-biting policy in place. Now he realized that might have been a huge miscalculation, but he liked to think of his own blood as non-negotiable.

“Not that I was gonna bite you _ever_ ,” Demyx idly thought aloud, but Zexion was tense now.

“Good,” he said stiffly. “I'm glad we established that.”

Demyx looked his way. “Um, I never really mentioned... I don't, like, kill people.”

His instinct was to very much doubt that – 'I don't kill people' was precisely what a murderer _would_ say – but, as it was Demyx, Zexion just arched an eyebrow. “Dare I ask...?”

“You can _buy_ blood, duh.”

“Buy-... As in pig's blood?”

“Yup. Doesn't cost much, at the deli.”

To be honest, Zexion was slightly disappointed. A vampire who fed off pig's blood? It came off as... cheap. Still, he supposed he should have been gladder to not be in the presence of killer.

In theory, anyway, which was entirely different from practice and yes, he was let down. “Oh. What's that like for you?”

“Um... Legal. So that's cool?” Demyx shrugged one shoulder. “It tastes like blood.”

“And how does blood taste to you?” There was, perhaps, a small, romantic notion in Zexion's mind that had been planted there by numerous vampire-based novels. That human blood tastes of ambrosia, intoxicating, addictive...

“The same as it tastes to you,” just like that, Demyx had dashed those thoughts. “It took a while to get used to it? Normal food just makes me feel kinda sick but it still tastes _way_ better.”

Zexion stared. “... It really just tastes the same?”

“Yeah. It's at least better warm, cold blood is so gross.”

“... Is human blood... better?”

With a considering noise, he shook his head a little. “Not a whole lot, but it's at least like, the best temperature. And the most filling.”

Classic literature had failed Zexion. “... I see.”

“But blood's just blood, you know?” Demyx, totally unaware that he had just destroyed countless fantasies, went on. “Like, why risk prison?”

Still frowning, Zexion tried to appreciate the sound reasoning. It could not fill the empty hole that his preconceptions had left behind. “That makes sense, yes...”

“A lot of the younger generation mostly feeds on blood you can buy. The traditional ones are human-diet only.”

Maybe they'd developed more of a taste for it. Maybe Demyx's tastebuds just weren't so... refined.

Or perhaps he should accept that answer, as an objective party. He inwardly sighed and took note.

“... And you prefer the sort of food that humans eat?”

“Well, yeah. Who wouldn't.”

“But you _can_ eat it... Much the way a carnivorous animal can eat plant matter...” At least his interest his been piqued by this new line of thinking, and Zexion could move on.

“Yeah, exactly. Like that,” Demyx agreed, then chimed in with his own questions. “Wait, can something like, uh... a hyena, eat a salad?”

Yes, as he'd gathered... Demyx had never been a stellar biology student. “Yes, but their bodies can't use the carbohydrates and it becomes stored as fat.”

“Oh,” he sounded like he understood, then frowned and wondered if human food would make him fat.

“What happens when you eat what I eat?”

It took Demyx a moment to get back on his wavelength. “I feel _really_ sick.”

“... And?” Zexion wondered if it would be indelicate to ask if vampires had a way of getting rid of waste, as other animals did.

“I might cough it up if it's really bad?”

“Really?” Intrigued, Zexion entered that into his phone.

“Yeah. And it comes up like sludge. It's super-gross.”

“I see...” He was tempted to try to get his hands on a sample, but that would perhaps be insensitive.

Having been worried at first that the discussion would put Zexion off his company completely, Demyx was almost amused by his pursuit of the subject. “Is that really interesting?”

“Are you kidding? This is disproving all of my previous theories.” And while, in some ways, that was dispiriting... _Real knowledge_ trumped all.

Demyx laughed. “You're such a nerd. It's cute.”

Blushing, Zexion bristled, “I'm a _scientist._ ”

“A weird occult scientist,” he grinned.

“Yes, well,” Zexion's tone was clipped. “Not an infant vampire, anyway.”

While not offended, Demyx's smile faded, his teasing falling flat. “Sorry.”

“I didn't mean-... It's not your fault.” Scrolling up in his phone, he glanced at the GPS – which was on the verge of toppling into someone's lap – and the clock. “How much longer will this drive take, out of curiosity?”

Demyx was quiet for a second. “Maybe like, an hour, hour and a half. It's...really out of the way.”

He _had_ warned him it was outside of the city.

“... So, what else d'you wanna know?”

 

* * *

 

Zexion had fallen silent after half a trip's worth of questions, his focus primarily on the darkness outside the car window.

They'd left luxuries such as streetlamps and concrete. They were on a dirt road – Zexion could hear the tire treads rolling over it at ten miles per hour, crackling among the occasional chirp of crickets – brights glinting off rusty rails. The car was moving at a crawl, cautious as there was really only enough room for a single vehicle on this path. They had passed a steep ravine, turned onto a property Zexion hadn't even seen was there, and the dirt road was left behind. They were driving over a lawn, bumpy and surely impossible to navigate – the GPS had gone quiet about twenty minutes ago, apparently baffled by the utter abandonment of proper globally-positioned society.

Demyx was driving around a vast plot of land, right past a large, stately manor. The headlights illuminated something not too far ahead, just out and exposed. A private cemetery on the property, not even a fence or anything to protect the massive headstones. Cars were parked in rows, _many_ of them, but Zexion couldn't see the precise number in the dark.

He drove in a loop rather than throw the car in reverse, parking right beside someone's truck. “Okay, here we are! Ready to look scared?”

Very carefully, Zexion leaned down to stash his phone in his sock, for lack of anywhere else to put it. “As I'll ever be.”

“How do I look?” Nervously, Demyx repositioned the rearview mirror, trying to get a glimpse. “Dumb, in this robe, probably...”

“Uh.”

When there was nothing polite to be (sincerely) said, Demyx sighed. “Ugh. Never mind. Let's get it over with.”

With a dash of sympathy, Zexion clambered out of the car to join him. The car door slammed shut, and the last vestiges of light died. It was a moonless night, but also cloudless; stars littered the sky and selfishly kept their shine to themselves. The night air pricked the skin that dared to be exposed.

Demyx locked the car doors, walking around the car to help lead Zexion. “I wonder if I should drag you in or something.”

“I'm not being dragged,” Zexion denied him, voice low. He couldn't tell if there was anyone else out here.

“I could kinda carry you. Wait, no, I changed my mind... Just keep close, I guess?”

Zexion nodded, and stuck close to Demyx's side. They were trudging past graves to an open mausoleum, a light source finally visible from somewhere deep within it. It was a warm glow, but dingy. As best he could, Zexion peered at the graves with interest, trying to make out names or symbolism. His eyes were starting to feel the strain, by the time their way was lit again.

“Crypt's down here.”

Oil lanterns, burning low. The smell was a little offensive to Zexion's sensitive nose, but he was too glad to have his vision back to really mind. From deep within, he could hear the suggestion of chatter – voices all melding together, indistinct and low.

He would have to make note of everything later. Zexion's senses felt... suddenly, strangely... _heightened_.

The winding steps led down into one large central location. The crypt had a low ceiling, but the walls set far back, pillars carved with angels forming a cloister which separated the main chamber from the entrance. There were arched doorways leading off the hall – presumably one went to the well, as it wasn't in sight – but the passages they lead to were too dark to see. A long, wide table was set up at the far end, the dark wood stained in strange ways. There was a man seated at the head, on a throne, surrounded by similarly robed people...

All of them, vampires. There were a great many _people_ , but the split was clear. The sacrifices outnumbered the vampires by many, but they were either complacently at the heels of whoever had brought them, or lining the walls. A crowd of them had formed on either side of the throne, kneeling on the floor with vacant looks. Waiting.

And there were _so many vampires_.

A distinct weight sank inside of Zexion, as he suddenly _felt_ the presence of so many who could kill him without a thought. His eyes had widened, practically frozen to the steps.

“Oh, that expression's really good,” Demyx praised, hushed. “Okay, c'mon!”

He almost didn't hear him. He trailed a step behind, even though 'flight or fight' told him to turn around, to flee.

If he didn't have such a good head on his shoulders, he would have. Running would draw attention. He couldn't outrun them all, and he didn't even know where he was. Where he'd go.

He was trapped in this situation, and Zexion feared this had been a fatal mistake.

“See _that_ guy?” Demyx quietly pointed out one lanky robed redhead, who had a small posse of humans at his feet and on either arm. At first count, there were at least eight of them. “That's Axel. He kinda bullies me.”

Zexion attempted to barely move his lips when he whispered back. “Are all of those...?”

“His sacrifices?” Demyx sighed. “Yeah. Show-off.”

Axel was keeping a tight grip on a blonde boy, who was rapidly blinking as though just waking up and starting to struggle to pull away.

“Not _again_...” Despite the protest, and the fact that this obviously wasn't the first occurrence of his thrall being broken, Axel didn't sound like he actually minded. He pulled his sacrifice right to his chest and let go of the girl on his other arm, catching his chin.

“He does this every year,” very quietly, Demyx sulked. “Getting a bunch of sacrifices like he thinks he's so cool. It's so annoying...”

Zexion watched, unnerved, as the boy squirmed for a few seconds while Axel searched his eyes. At last, his head fell forward, slumping onto Axel's arm again.

“So fiery,” Axel readjusted his arm around him, taking the kind of tone one might with a misbehaved kitten, then looked up to smirk at Demyx as he approached with Zexion on his heels. “ _Hey_ , Dem. Running late?”

“Longer drive than I remember...” he sounded sheepish.

Carefully, Zexion inched closer to Demyx, not wanting to find out what would happen if he looked into Axel's eyes.

“I'll bet. So you weren't late because you were finding a sacrifice last-minute, huh?”

“No way! I've got mine,” Demyx defended, glancing back at Zexion. “See?”

Trying not to tense or show too much free will, Zexion stared at a fixed point past the both of them and pretended he couldn't hear.

“Yeah, I see him, Dem,” Axel snorted. “Whatever. You're not late enough to piss off the Elder One, but if I were you, I'd go swear fealty ASAP. Got it memorized?”

Demyx looked over towards the throne, at the vampires practically lined up to pay their respects. “Ugh, but that's so cheesy.”

“You know how it is,” Axel shrugged, and lowered his voice to drawl in obvious imitation. “Tradition is what upholds the old dignity of the Dark Ones, we who walk in shadow and exist against nature, etcetera, etcetera.”

“ _Cheesy_ tradition,” Demyx grumbled, and turned to go.

“And you might want to check in on your sacrifice. He doesn't look exactly... _under thrall_.”

To cover nerves, Demyx laughed. He knew it'd been a jibe at his poor hypnosis abilities, but there was still a flash of panic, thinking he might _know_. Zexion, to credit his intelligence, knew that it would be incredibly obvious that he was faking if he tried to look more dazed now, and simply followed.

He'd let Demyx handle the cover story, if anyone asked many more questions.

“Yeah, I'll do that,” he tossed over his shoulder and groaned under his breath, catching Zexion's hand. He held on tighter than he meant to, letting Demyx weave them through the crowd.

It was hard to get the sacrifices' _eyes_ out of his mind. Blank, wide pupils glazed... But he thought he could see terror buried under the glassiness. Like they were trapped in a nightmare they couldn't wake from.

Amidst the buzz of conversations around them, Demyx murmured to him, “So I've got to pay homage or whatever. Just look, um... I dunno, look scared, but also kind of like you're in love with me? That's thrall-y.”

Zexion struggled to keep from pointing out that that was practically impossible, and instead just tried to do it.

So late into the gathering, the line of vampires still to adulate the Elder One was short. Demyx gravitated towards it and waited with the patience of someone in line for their morning coffee.

The Elder One – a sharp-eyed, long-haired man who really didn't _look_ so old – had his hand held out to let one vampire after the other kneel down and kiss his ring. Zexion wasn't nearly so interested in seeing the other vampires' behavior as he thought he'd be, keeping his eyes trained on Demyx instead.

Demyx's turn came up quickly, and he knelt by the throne and took the Elder One's hand. Then he began to recite, hastily and without much inflection, “On this night under the darkness of the new moon I am honored to witness the power and superiority of the Elder One and thank that he has deigned to share it with one as lowly as I, and offer to him my sacrifice in the hope that I prove myself worthy of my existence as a Dark One.”

With a numb sort of terror, Zexion listened and remained listlessly standing. He just hoped that was the right thing to do.

With an exaggerated sound, Demyx kissed the Elder One's ring and was immediately waved off. He skipped up to pull Zexion past the columns to somewhere more private, feeling he should probably check in, but they were intercepted. Loudly.

“Dem _yx!_ ”

Xigbar's arm cut across their path and planted itself against the wall, coming up to almost loom over them both. Zexion's heart leapt to his throat.

Momentarily forgetting his intentions of comforting his friend, Demyx grinned up at the robed man. “Hey, Xiggy.”

“Well, lookit that. You managed to catch your own meal this time,” Xigbar smirked, looking about a step away from ruffling Demyx's hair. “I was savin' one of mine to share with you.”

“I'm not a _kid_ , I was totally on top of it.”

Xigbar leered. “He's really more of a snack, though, huh?”

Zexion had to pretend not to even notice Xigbar's one good eye sweeping him up and down, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“He's big enough!” Demyx defended, and then cleared his throat, wishing he'd chosen different wording. “Wait, I didn't mean _that_...”

Xigbar barked with laughter. “Should keep the old guy happy, anyway. Or, you know, happy as he ever gets.”

“Heh, yeah...”

“You should show 'im off to your old man, too,” Xigbar sized Zexion up again. “Big moment, the first year with your own sacrifice.”

Despite his confusion, Zexion resisted looking Demyx's way. What had that meant?

“He probably doesn't even want to see me,” Demyx shrugged. “Maybe?”

“Eh, maybe not, but it makes you a little less embarrassing, anyway.”

He scuffed his tatty sneaker against the floor. “If he wants to talk to me. _You're_ the only older vampire who ever talks to me, though.”

“Well, I'll let 'im know if we end up talking.” Xigbar made an expression of distaste that further distorted his scarred features. “Probably end up sitting next to the geezer at dinner. Just my luck.”

“Sucks for you,” Demyx laughed. “Um, don't tell him I said that, though.”

Xigbar barked again, short and harsh, and then looked Demyx up and down keenly. “Hey, how 'bout you stop by my place after the 'festivities'? Feels like we haven't hung out in forever.”

Under normal circumstances, Demyx would have agreed without a second thought, but couldn't let anyone wait around for him after the party. He grinned sheepishly and began to steer Zexion to move on. “Uh, can't. I actually have a thing I have to do, but maybe later?”

“Ah, you're no fun tonight,” Xigbar frowned, then shrugged. “Whatever. Later.”

A little more embarrassed, Demyx waved at him as he pulled Zexion along to find a corner. They found one dark spot rife with spiderwebs, and he exhaled, running a hand self-consciously through his hair.

Zexion watched awkwardly, and murmured, “Are you... alright?”

“Yeah...” Demyx ruffled the hair, partway through his attempt to fix it. “It's cool.”

Without any idea of how to phrase the questions in his mind, he asked, “That was... someone you know?”

“Xigbar? He was kinda my mentor when I got turned. _Major_ sire kink.”

Zexion looked blank. “Sire... what?”

“You know, your sire is the vampire that turns you and they're supposed to teach you the ropes. Like a vamp-parent,” he explained.

“Yes, I know what a sire is.” He'd momentarily forgotten; must have been the suppressed panic at work. “That's who he was referring to?”

“Yup. I was an accident,” Demyx laughed weakly. “I kind of, um, bit back? Real hard. And I swallowed my sire's blood in the process, and... Here I am.”

Zexion gave him a long, blank stare.

“... Turning is a blood-sharing thing,” he finally explained, as though he thought that should have been something everyone just happened to know.

“So, you were attacked by a vampire, and in trying to escape... you turned yourself. Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

So much about Demyx made sense, now. “I see.”

“My sire doesn't really talk to me, but he might actually be pleased that I brought a sacrifice all on my own,” he said, a little hopeful at the prospect.

“Are you going to try...?” Zexion wasn't sure how many more interactions with vampires he could pretend not to hear.

“No way, he's old and boring,” he dismissed. “Anyway, I wanted to check if you're okay.”

If he were the type to laugh in someone's face for asking a foolish question, Zexion might have. “How 'okay' do you expect me to be?”

Demyx wilted a little. “... Uh, sorry...”

He sighed. Unpleasantly, he felt an unexpected twinge of guilt. This night was obviously no picnic for Demyx, either, though Zexion still undeniably had drawn the short straw. “I'm... on-edge, but unharmed.”

“Well, yeah... I promised you wouldn't get hurt. And see, the others aren't gonna attack you or anything.”

“Because they think you have ownership of me already.”

“Exactly.” Demyx looked pensive. “Sounds kinky when you say it like that.”

Zexion disregarded that. “If they find out you _don't_...?”

This was a question that, apparently, Demyx had not expected or thought about. He stammered quietly over his vowels while Zexion gave him an expectant look, awaiting an answer.

“... Um, maybe we should stop talking,” Demyx finally suggested, not wanting to come right out and _say_ that their current private huddling might strike someone as suspicious soon. “And look scared again.”

“One more question first.”

“Yeah?” Demyx glanced anxiously over his shoulder, though no one was paying much attention to them.

“What did he mean by 'dinner'?” Zexion asked, because if he didn't, his hands would become clammier and it was highly unpleasant to be unable to wash them off.

“Um,” he sounded slightly distracted. “That's when we all sit down at the big table and the Elder One makes a speech and then we, uh. Feast on the sacrifices.”

Honestly, he'd expected worse. Zexion nodded once.

“Anything else?” Demyx shot a quick look over his shoulder again. Just barely perceptible, Zexion shook his head.

“Okay, um... Maybe we should go more to make you look sacrifice-y...” Demyx bit his lip briefly. “... Nah, this is probably fine.”

Zexion failed to see how that could have been accomplished anyway. They rejoined the crowd, and although he was tense all over again, Zexion still had to exaggerate his expression to be properly terrified.

Thankfully, any horror in his eyes was real, the vacant fright in the sacrifices' faces still haunting him. He determinedly avoided looking at any of them, but it was difficult with them milling about everywhere. When he thought he wouldn't be caught, he sneaked glances at the other vampires, finding them surprisingly easy to identify by generation; the younger vampires kept close to the far end of the table, socializing primarily with each other. The closer to the Elder One, the more obvious it was that they had been around for a while.

So he thought, anyway, although hairstyles had deceived him before.

Demyx exchanged a few casual greetings with the young vamps, killing time until a bell was struck. Zexion almost jumped.

Everyone began moving to the table, already aware of their assigned seat. Demyx brought Zexion with him, all the sacrifices being kept however the vampire in question saw fit – Axel, on the older side of the table and a few seats closer to the older generation, pulled his blonde into his lap in order to keep an eye on him, with his other sacrifices at his feet.

Zexion stood between Demyx and another man sneaking sips from a flask. Normally, he would have been fascinated by the idea that vampires felt any compulsion to drink alcohol, but this was absolutely not the time.

He couldn't stop his gaze from straying to Axel.

Obviously disinterested, Demyx planted his elbows on the table and looked up to the throne, assuming at least the posture of someone who cared about the upcoming speech. Everyone fell silent in short order, and the Elder One rose from his seat.

Trepidation ebbed away. Zexion kept his head down, but his ears perked. He'd been looking forward to this part more than anything.

The Elder One's voice was deep and slow. “On this, the darkest of all nights, we convene in a show of indulgence that They Who Walk In Daylight rightly fear.”

“This is gonna take, like, all night,” Demyx sighed under his breath, but Zexion absorbed every word.

“Since the day of the Hunt, when Dark and Light sought to undo one another and the mortals attempted to eradicate us completely, we have convened on this night. A celebration of our might, the inherent power to hold over their feeble kind, no matter how they might try to destroy us...”

Demyx's boredom seemed to weigh him down, and he slowly melted into his chair. He'd started to mumble something under his breath at the word 'eradicate', but it was almost too low for even Zexion to hear, and what he did make out couldn't possibly have been real words...

“ _Magnemite, Kadabra, Weepinbell...”_

A hiss from Axel's direction, however, drew Zexion's gaze again.

The blonde had blinked awake once more, though this time he'd hardly shown any sign of it until he'd twisted around and bitten hard into the arm holding him. Axel grabbed his chin hard to look into his eyes, getting some snickers from the vampires around him.

The Elder One ignored this completely.

“... Which has become our tradition, an important reminder of the gifts the Darkness has bestowed onto us, and that we might grant to those I, the Eldest of us all, find worthy. It is adherence to the Old Ways that binds us and keeps our ranks strong; tradition that helps us appreciate what it means to be beyond mortality...”

“It's the same speech _every year_ ,” Demyx despaired, barely audible. Zexion was still watching the scene Axel's sacrifice was creating, which was quite significant for how few seemed to take notice.

He was struggling, trying to yell, even as his voice got fainter.

Zexion felt sick.

Axel's voice was a little hypnotic as he hushed him, looking more intrigued than embarrassed as his sacrifice slouched against him.

“... and, in this tradition, we kill as our prey does. Not only for food, but for sport, for _dominance_.”

Zexion had looked away in time to hear those words. Subtly, he gripped Demyx's chair hard. Demyx didn't notice, idly tracing shapes against the table with a fingertip.

The Elder One sat down again, and beckoned, “Bring me forth the first.”

From over halfway up the table, vampires began to rise to start corralling and dragging blank-faced humans forward to the Elder One, lining them up in a row. Only a few stayed there to keep the line moving, while the others went to fetch wooden carts.

The Elder One brought the nearest human to his lap, putting them into a deeper trance just at a touch. Then he leaned in, and his long fangs punctured the slender neck.

The offering didn't even struggle. Zexion felt the need to look away, but for some reason, he didn't. He stared, watching excess dark blood spill from the seal of the Elder One's lips, able to see his mouth go tight as he sucked it down. He could see the veins bulge in the human's throat, watch the flesh lose color.

He didn't drink long. The body crumpled before it was drained, still bleeding from the deep wounds that had split wider than the mere teeth marks. Elder One shoved it carelessly aside before taking the next.

Zexion had watched countless scenes like that one on screen, read them in graphic detail without blinking. Nothing had prepared him for seeing it real.

With the first kill done, the other Elders began to drink, tearing into their sacrifices impatiently. Demyx was completely unaffected, having eaten before he came, but some of the others nearby were practically radiating hunger. Zexion could feel it like a knife to the throat.

He tried to meet Demyx's eyes, somehow. He willed his heart to stop hammering, feeling like the pumping blood might tempt someone.

Demyx didn't notice. He still looked distant and bored with it all.

It hit him, then, that Demyx was a monster. That death didn't phase him, and the humans around him were not _people_. They were a boring obligatory part of the boring tradition of his kind, because murdering was so mundane that it wasn't even worth looking on.

He was frozen where he was, but he had a _powerful_ urge to turn and run.

Very carefully, Zexion reached for his sleeve. Monster or not, Demyx was the only thing around for miles that screamed of safety.

Presuming he didn't change his mind... but Demyx was cowardly. Too cowardly to go back on his word. He had to believe that, or he wouldn't make it out of this alive.

Demyx glanced up, eyes widening at the ashen expression on Zexion's face, and gently guided his hand under the table to give it a squeeze with his own. He honestly hadn't expected Zexion to be so affected, but he was shivering very slightly.

Zexion felt him lace their fingers, but caught sight of a new gory spectacle; the vampires with carts, hoisting bodies like a rag dolls onto them to wheel away when it was full. Limbs stuck out the sides, crammed awkwardly up against the wood, and one dead woman's head lolled over the end, long hair catching in the wheels.

Up front, the Elder One had drunk his fill and was now simply killing his victims, biting into their throats and wrenching muscle out through the broken skin. Blood bubbled down the human's front, dead in an instant. Zexion was illogically certain his heartbeat could be heard all the way at the other end of the table, now, and he grimaced in unexpected revulsion.

Demyx was starting to feel guilty for bringing him. He squeezed his hand, giving him a significant look.

“Thrall-y,” he reminded him worriedly, almost impossible to hear. Zexion forced his expression into a mask of calm.

As much as he could.

The carting of bodies was constant, and the number of vampires feeding steadily moved down the table. The ones who'd been standing were taking their seats, leaving the not-quite-seniors who'd just fed to get up and pick up the task from where they'd left off. It felt to Zexion like the process was taking hours, but that couldn't have been the case.

The younger the vampires, as well, the less submissive their humans were. Some of them cried out in agony, struggled, showed _some_ indication that the fangs buried in their neck were killing them.

Then the feeding had nearly reached them, and just ahead at the table, Axel had punctured a hole into his own wrist. He sank his fangs into his victim's throat, gripping him tightly in case he fought, and pressed the bleeding hole to his mouth.

On reflex, the blonde bit back, blood draining into his mouth before he could think or recoil.

Zexion spotted this, brow furrowing. Axel drained him just short of death, letting him slide under the table when he was too weak to do anything but, and then yanked the girl he'd had on his other arm. He drank her, and kept his wrist away from the others.

“Must've gotten permission to turn that one,” Demyx mumbled, fidgeting.

His turn was coming up, and he was... actually kind of worried about it. What if it didn't look convincing? What if he accidentally bled Zexion and he needed medical care? There wasn't a hospital around for _miles_.

The carts were near, and all around there were corpses. Zexion's breathing shortened, and he was being drawn down. Pulled closer to Demyx.

Zexion's eyes were wide, looking into Demyx's and frantically trying to communicate _something_. Demyx leaned in, lips right below his ear. Even then, he was barely audible.

“I'm gonna bite a _tiny little_ bit, okay? For show. I'm gonna try not to hurt you. It'll be okay.”

He could only hope that was true, now. Zexion shut his eyes.

At least he was pretty used to pain.

Demyx carefully tugged the knit collar out of his way, pressing his mouth to the skin. His fangs extended, and Zexion screwed his eyes up tighter in an attempt not to wince as the sharp tips split him.

It was really only a poke. He needed to draw blood, but he didn't want to make him bleed than a dribble. After a stinging moment, Zexion realized he wasn't sucking the wound. He was just keeping his mouth there, and swallowing the tiny drops of tangy blood on his tongue.

This did _not_ feel good. Even in a masochistic sense. Zexion was again offended, feeling that countless novels had betrayed him. Where was the endorphin rush? Adrenaline? Anything?

Unfortunately, Zexion wasn't bleeding enough to look convincing. Demyx's fangs retracted, but he sucked a little, pulling the blood from his veins. Zexion's heart lurched, going rigid.

That felt even _worse_.

Demyx stopped a second later, almost scraping his teeth over the bloody mark as he withdrew enough to murmur, “You gotta play dead soon.”

Zexion didn't acknowledge him, but gradually leaned his entire weight on Demyx, and forced his closed eyelids to become smooth.

Demyx drew back to lay his body out as gently as possible, licking his lips, and Zexion almost kissed the floor. Remaining as lifeless as he could, Zexion tried to let every part of his body go slack and heavy.

His heartbeat was louder than ever, though, and he was certain someone would hear.

Above him, Demyx asked with an attempt at sounding innocent, “Hey, can I cart my own body? I'm really proud of it, is all...”

Someone told him no. Zexion held his breath for as long as he could, and once that proved fruitless, he tried to keep his chest still as he took in air anyway.

Time stretched on much longer when all he could do was be still, and listen. There were terrible thuds and cracks nearby, bodies meeting ground, and the carts were nearby. He could hear the footsteps and the heavy rolling sound.

He managed not to let the tension show. Even as he was lifted carelessly, even as he was shoved onto a bony, lumpy body that was rapidly going cool.

He tried not to think about the bodies under him, and prayed instead that he wouldn't be crushed by another layer of corpses. He could hear his pulse, in his eardrum. It was starting to drown out other sounds.

No one else was thrown on top of Zexion. The cart was moving again, the nuances to the way the wheels were turning becoming gratingly identifiable. One had a slight wobble to it. The wood, or the ground, wasn't perfectly smooth. Zexion felt every shift and jostle like he was being thrown, for all the effort it was taking not to move.

Then they stopped, and it was cold. Very cold. Darker, through the thin skin of Zexion's eyelids. He couldn't tell if the lanterns were still around – he couldn't smell the oil, anymore, only the reek of bodies and blood. Something fetid and damp, clogging the air that was just on the brink of his senses.

The water, deep below in the well.

Zexion was prodded and smothered as the vampire hauled bodies up off the cart, and he heard them topple. He thought he heard something like a bone break.

He wished he knew how deep this well really was.

Then he was being grabbed under the arms, dragged off the cart. And then he'd been shoved.

A sharp breath escaped as nothingness opened underneath him, and Zexion's eyes shut tighter – he might die, he might hit rock or drown – but he landed seconds later with barely enough time to picture his gory death, on a body pile terrifyingly high.

It did not make for a soft landing.

Badly rattled, but nothing feeling badly injured, Zexion finally opened his eyes. It didn't matter, now, surely.

Beside him – he couldn't tell how far in the gloom, but definitely much closer than he'd like – there was a heavy, wet slapping sound, absorbed almost instantly by the malleable surface beneath him. Then there was only the squeak and rattle of wheels growing fainter, somewhere above him.

It took several minutes to adjust to the dark enough to see at all, and in that time, all he could do was choke on the reek. It smelled so powerfully of death that he almost heaved, and only swallowed the burgeoning acid climbing his throat out of fear that the sound of retching would inspire investigation.

The well wasn't a traditional one, not in the sense he'd first thought of. That made sense, of course; they were already underground. It was more of an immense pit, chains very high above his head and clearly not used in ages. And, beneath him...

Bodies. Blank-faced corpses piled high under him, forming a mass. There were so many, definitely more than the amount of people he'd seen back up in the crypt. He could only assume it had been used for a similar purpose before, and what remained at the base of the pile....

He wished he hadn't looked, now. He couldn't support himself without pressing down on dead flesh, and he was too horrified to move or try to find his way out.

Demyx. He had to wait for Demyx.

Frantically he groped for his phone, snapping out of it. By some miracle, it hadn't fallen out or been lost. He held down the button to turn it on with shaking hands, wanting the comfort of something bright and real. Something that reminded him that he could connect with live people.

From above, the sound of wooden wheels had returned. More bodies were on their way.

Zexion was jolted into action, scrambling down the bodies as fast as he could, though there wasn't an even enough surface, or clear footholds. After less than a second of stumbling, he was more or less rolling down the mound, phone tightly clenched to his chest.

The first new body hit the pile. It would have fallen right on top of him.

One of his feet caught in a gap sooner than the rest of him, and it twisted under his body as he fought to slow his slippery descent. He had to wrap his hands around stiff arms and legs, had to sink his feet between the crush of flesh and hair, but he managed to keep from tumbling to the very bottom. Zexion pressed himself hard against the wall of corpses and hunched to protect his head, waiting for the cascade to stop. There were wet patches on his skin, some warmer than others. Some of the bodies were still bleeding...

With a hot wrench of his stomach, he realized he could still hear whimpering and wheezing, somewhere in the darkness.

Anyone still alive... They wouldn't be in any kind of salvageable state. Zexion could do nothing for them. He had to move, before more bodies were added to the pile.

He had to just keep moving.

He repeated that in his head as he half-climbed, half-skidded lower over the soft, uneven mass. Just keep moving.

There was no way of knowing how deep the well was dug, or how much water he'd find at the bottom. He guessed he'd slid down about ten feet the first time, and though he was descending steadily now, he didn't sense the cave floor coming nearer.

If he hadn't stopped himself falling when he did... if he'd lost control and rolled head-over-heels all the way to the distant ground...

He didn't think it was possible to shiver any more than he already was, but he felt that shudder distinctly.

Bodies kept being thrown over, until they weren't anymore. Zexion paused after every disposal to listen, trying to figure out when it was finished – there was no indication of what was happening above – and twice, he thought that it must be over. The first, he was proven wrong, and the return of the wheels made his eyes sting and the crushing feeling that _he couldn't breathe_ smack into him and bowl him over.

It was over, after a while. Not until after his feet had touched solid ground – wet, but without any depth of water – did the now far-off and familiar sound of bodies hitting more bodies cease. Zexion determined that it must be finished this time, the silence going on for much longer than their proven-productive pattern ever had, and he withdrew his phone again.

The screen lit up, smeared with the blood of strangers. It was one o'clock in the morning, and there was no word from Demyx.

Feeling dizzy and sick, and colder than he could ever remember, Zexion was certain his legs would give out under him. But there was very little space he could place his feet that wasn't on bone and barely-clinging flesh. The repulsive idea of letting himself collapse here gave him a tiny bit of strength to keep standing and try to take in his surroundings.

Closing his eyes briefly, Zexion turned the screen around to illuminate as much of the chamber as he was able. That only amounted to a few feet.

Was it wiser to stay here, or look for a way out?

Demyx had seemed certain there was a way to get him out. Those chains at the top of the well, they hadn't seemed usable, but what if Demyx planned on just throwing him a rope and making him climb? He'd have to clamber all the way back up the bodies, and...

And he just didn't have that in him.

Demyx or no Demyx... He couldn't count on a rescue. He didn't know if the 'rescue attempt' would even pan out. He should have gotten more information. He should have said no, in the first place.

The minutes ticked by. He was shaking too badly to stand anymore, his attempt to navigate himself out pointless, and he sank down among the cold and rotted bodies near the bottom. There was the steady trickle of water, now, but Zexion wasn't really listening to it. He was ignoring all his senses – especially that of smell and taste, for the corpses were _on his tongue_ for how powerfully they stank – and instead he stared obsessively at his phone.

He didn't dare to text or call anyone, but realized with a dull pang that he couldn't think of a single person to say goodbye to, anyway.

Zexion watched the screen. Watched the minutes go by, and his battery slowly drain. He only moved to keep the screen alight, eyes sore, thumbs stained.

And, well over half an hour later, he got a text.

 _[Demyx. 1:47 AM.]_   'U ok?'

When it vibrated, Zexion almost dropped it. He continued to just _look_ at the phone, needing a moment to understand; he actually... He hadn't expected the text.

 _[Demyx. 1:47 AM]_   'just waiting for everyone to go away and then im gonna sneak in'

 _[Demyx. 1:47 AM]_ 'i know where the well lets out so ill come through there'

Zexion's throat felt too dry to swallow.

 _[Zexion. 1:48 AM]_   'ok'

The drying streaks across his screen had made it almost impossible to type even that.

He closed his eyes, but didn't let the screen go dark.

Eons later, the phone vibrated again.

 _[Demyx. 1:57 AM]_   'ugggggh some of them are still hanging around'

Zexion wasn't able to summon the will to respond. He hated how normal he sounded. How simple this was, from Demyx's end.

He texted again, minutes later.

 _[Demyx. 2:00 AM]_   'theyre gone! Coming to get u'

He stared at the message numbly even as it blurred too badly to read, fixed to the spot. He'd almost gotten the words to come back into focus, when the screen went dark.

Zexion's throat tightened, choking him. He had the irrational sense that it was too late to turn it back on, and he merely let it fall to his side. It slipped down a corpse's back.

 _[Demyx. 2:09 AM]_ 'im close! Looking for u'

The message brightened his screen and cast a small glow around him, but Zexion didn't read the message. Slowly, he got to his knees, trying to see into the darkness of the quarry.

He could hear footsteps, sloshing through muck.

Demyx had ditched his robes in the car, left in jeans and a threadbare t-shirt. He waved an arm frenetically when he saw the tiny white light, trying to draw attention to himself.

Zexion squinted, dragging himself a bit closer.

“Zexion!” Demyx hissed, approaching and stepping over the thin, soiled stream. Zexion could finally make out his features, and reached out for him with one bloodied hand.

Climbing carelessly over bodies to reach for him, Demyx wrapped his hand around Zexion's. His grip was weak in return, but he gradually put enough weight on him to walk.

“... C'mon...” Demyx pulled him against his chest, almost nuzzling him. “... You hurt?”

Zexion leaned on him, hushed. “... I don't seem to be... Maybe...a little bruised...”

That was a relief. Demyx had been confident in his survival (sort of) but he'd been plagued with images of his friend landing and breaking his leg, or an arm, or his neck – this had been poorly planned, in retrospect, and Demyx regretted that deeply.

After all, when he'd experienced that drop, it had technically been as a fledgling vampire. Demyx just hadn't known it at the time.

“Sorry I bit you...”

Zexion almost snapped. “Just get me home.”

“Um – yeah. Right, okay...” Demyx started to let go.

A throbbing pain in one of his ankles made itself known, fear having kept him unaware. Zexion started to slip and grabbed onto his shirt. “Don't-...”

“Oh, okay,” startled, Demyx wrapped an arm around Zexion and helped him over the corpses.

Zexion rested an arm on his waist, limping wordlessly beside him. His mind was too scattered to assess the damage to himself just yet.

Demyx started to lead him out and up the way he came down, the quarry leading out into the open air after a considerable walk. They were going the way they'd come; Zexion could recognize the steel rails, way up high, sectioning off the ravine. The stream wasn't a proper body of water; it was slow-moving, almost stagnant.

All the same, cold air was a sweet relief from _back there_.

“There's, um, a ladder...” Demyx stopped them, and there it was; rusted and old but a means of escape. “Can you climb?”

He nodded. “If there's no other way...”

“You can go up ahead of me, so I can catch you if you slip.”

Zexion hesitated, mistrustful. “There's nothing else up there, right?”

“Nope,” Demyx confirmed. “I even parked close.”

Slowly, Zexion let go to grab onto the rungs, testing his good leg on it first. His ascent was slow, shaky on the one leg and needing to put most of his weight on his arms for every other step.

While neither the time nor the place, Demyx accidentally and not-accidentally watched his backside the entire climb.

Zexion finally found purchase against the dirt road, and tried to push himself up over it with a grunt.

“You okay?” Demyx checked, below him.

“Ngh...” Eventually, Zexion managed to get his stomach resting on the rough ground, and swung himself over. Demyx had a much easier time doing the same, though complained nonetheless.

“Ugh. Climbing,” he moaned, dragging himself upright. Zexion was nearly collapsed, breathing hard, injured leg extended and catching Demyx's notice. “Your leg...”

Zexion made himself sit up a little, enough to pull up the leg of his pants. Demyx inspected the ankle, which was considerably more useful than Zexion doing it himself, for all the trouble he was having focusing. He couldn't see past the blood, all over him.

“... Your ankle's kinda swollen...” Unthinkingly, Demyx bent over and kissed it lightly.

On a different day, Zexion might have wrenched away. For now, he didn't. “I can't remember hurting it, but I suppose adrenaline could have overwhelmed the pain...”

Demyx rolled the pant leg back down. He was quieter, remorseful. “I really didn't think it'd freak you out so much.”

He couldn't tell if that was praise, condemnation, or neither. Zexion couldn't even tell how he was feeling towards _himself_. “I... didn't expect it, either...”

How foolish. He'd really thought he was prepared. Silly, in hindsight. Theory was always different from practice.

“You did awesome, though...” Demyx murmured. “You really saved me.”

Zexion shrugged. The bite mark twinged. “Your car...?”

“Over there...” Demyx pointed it out; it was parked within trees, on the very edge of the dirt road.

“Can you help me stand again...?”

“Uh-huh.” Dusting himself off first, Demyx got to his feet and leaned over to help Zexion up. He was much more careful on his sprained ankle this time, using Demyx as a crutch.

Walking him to the car, Demyx eyed Zexion and ventured, “D'you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. The memory was still too close, the trauma of it right behind him still. Even if he'd wanted to, Zexion wouldn't have the words to describe what climbing a mountain of corpses felt like, or what had gone through his head, waiting in what had seemed an endless world of dark and death.

“... Do you have the robe, still?”

“Huh? Yeah, it's in the car.”

“May I have that?”

Demyx blinked, and answered, “Sure,” without thinking. He hoped belatedly that Zexion hadn't meant 'to keep'. He technically needed it for next year.

“Thank you.” Luckily, Zexion didn't actually intend to _take_ it. He was helped into the back with some adjustments to the passenger side seat, and he bundled himself in the robe.

The woodsy smell was more acrid than ever before... But being covered felt safer, and the cold felt like it'd sunk into the core of his being. Zexion shivered and pulled it tight.

Getting around in front, Demyx shut the door and started the ignition. “Hey, um, it's dumb, but... When I was human and something happened and I needed comforting, I'd always get hot chocolate. Would you... want anything?”

A warm drink might have benefited his crawling cold flesh, but he didn't think his stomach could take it. Besides...

“... No. I would just like to be home, please.”

“Yeah... Okay...”

The ride back over the bumpy road was mercifully shorter than Zexion remembered, and the smoothness of pavement was welcome. The jostling reminded him too much of the cart.

Demyx started humming to himself in lieu of music, and Zexion closed his eyes, hoping for even a short reprieve of sleep.

 

* * *

 

It was days before Zexion saw Demyx again. For that matter, it was days before he saw anyone. Sickeningly, he found it had taken over twenty-four hours before he could look at a face without imagining it with the vacant look of thrall, and his dreams were full of a phantom familiar stench.

He'd considered burning all of his books on vampires, but that would have undoubtedly earned him another visit from the fire chief and Zexion just wasn't up to another lecture. Besides, once he was up to it, he would want to expand on his notes in detail and compare them against his former resources.

Once he was up to it.

For five days, Zexion didn't leave the apartment, having sparse meals and eventually delving into his emergency stock of ninety-nine cent packs of ramen to keep him going. His ankle should have been looked at ages ago, but he managed to keep the swelling down well enough with his own knowledge.

Then, around nineteen-hundred hours on day six, there was a knock on the door.

Demyx had brought him a bag of groceries (all of his in-life favorites, he'd confessed, because he hadn't known what kind of groceries Zexion tended to buy) and an extra-large cup of hot chocolate.

Zexion had considered slamming the door in his face, but, surprising even himself, he quietly gave his permission for Demyx to come in.

Together they sat down, and in lieu of speaking, started a marathon of Buffy – Zexion's wordless insistence. He drank the hot chocolate, even though he much preferred tea.

Hours later, he also got to collect some of the 'super-gross sludge' Demyx had mentioned, sometime after his seventeenth sugar cookie. It was the first sample he'd taken of anything since that night. He'd never missed so much school in his life, and the fact that he was taking interest in the pursuit of science again was encouraging. His life wasn't over; he was alive, and he hadn't been broken.

Demyx was extra-eager to fulfil every one of Zexion's whims all night, though he was mostly given cold silence. Zexion was feeling far from forgiving, but didn't quite want Demyx gone, either. He got a small amount of satisfaction from watching him squirm every time an on-screen vampire was staked.

Just before sunrise, Demyx had started to yawn wide, fang-bearing yawns, and even he had enough good sense not to ask to stay and rest here. He did venture a question about whether he'd get to see Zexion again sometime, and got another unexpected answer.

Zexion agreed to have him back, though he didn't set a date. After all, they had six and a half more seasons to get through, and it would be at least three of them before he'd consider whether or not Demyx had been suitably punished, and decide if it was necessary to keep going. He didn't completely hate having someone to watch with, until then.

And he thought that they might be _even_ one day, after Zexion had found a good therapist who wouldn't judge him for any beyond-belief claims, and Demyx had finished filling in the in-depth questionnaire he planned to give him about his bodily habits, and a good many other things.

For the worst relationship to have with someone was 'almost, perhaps, questionably, casually dating', when you weren't yet totally over that one favor they'd asked you to do.


End file.
